For the first time in 21 years, I live in the home of a world championship team. And with the Colts’ title, Indy officially becomes a football town. I’ve shared this story often: the Colts couldn’t even sell out the smallest stadium in the league in time to lift the TV blackout for their home opener against their arch rivals the first fall I lived here. Four seasons later, they are Super Bowl champions, a sparkling new stadium with the fifth highest capacity in the NFL is being constructed across the street from the RCA Dome, and this city has finally fully embraced the team. It’s been an interesting and exciting run.
This Super Bowl was not one that will go down as a classic. Sloppy track. Sloppy play. Rex Grossman. A bunch of shitty commercials. But what matters is the Colts won and there are thousands of drunken idiots downtown at Monument Circle running around in the -15 windchills. (I was all bundled up just to take the trash out tonight. There are guys downtown without shirts on. I guess that’s the difference between drinking two beers and 20.) Oh, and lots of bad local TV which has been the real highlight of the night. There’s nothing like seeing a reporter who usually covers the Statehouse get stuck in a bar for six hours, and then receive kisses on the cheek from other men while trying to do a live report.
If this was college basketball, Dick Vitale would already be telling us who will win next year’s Super Bowl. Sometimes pro sports are better. When do pitchers and catchers report? (Correction: at 12:15 the tools on ESPN started discussing next season. Typical.)